Happy Birthday To You

My Mother and Me

Today would have been my mother's 87th birthday.  I last wrote about her on my birthday in April, but there was more to say...so here's another tribute to this fabulous woman.

I learned about the timeless beauty of blackness and black culture from her.  Because of her I heard the poetry of Paul Lawrence Dunbar, and learned the lyrics to the black national anthem, “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing.”  She and I were frequent and enthusiastic patrons of the historic Howard Theater in Washington DC, and were riveted by the electrifying live performances of James Brown, Little Richard, The Temptations, and many, many others on that stage.

Because of her love of music our house brimmed with the musical power and sass of Ruth Brown, BB King, Billy Preston, Ray Charles, Dinah Washington.  Our Sunday morning soundtrack often featured Mahalia Jackson, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, The Edwin Hawkins Singers, Aretha’s “Amazing Grace.”  Gray days brought Jimmy Reed into the mix.  Our stereo often blew the roof off the sucker; she predated Spinal Tap by “turning it up to 11.”

She loved to laugh and from that I learned that there is joy to be found everywhere.  She was an easy giggle and one of my favorite audiences. She laughed as hard as I did at the antics of Bugs, Daffy, Wile E. Coyote, and Tom & Jerry.  She adored the silliness of The Three Stooges and Benny Hill.

She was an old school romantic who loved vampires (especially Barnabas Collins), Wuthering Heights, and sentimental greeting cards.

She made personal fashion statements.  Made herself a leopard print corduroy pantsuit and wore it proudly at a time when most women were still wearing demure shirtwaist dresses for day.  She entertained in bold print jumpsuits.  Made dashikis for her husband.  Outfitted me in t-shirt dresses and Mexican style-tiered skirts.  Stitched up dotted swiss dresses with Peter Pan collars and back ties, and sweet little pastel dresses to squelch the blue jean-clad hippie chick that was growing in front of her.

She taught me how to walk in heels; how to stand and sit.  She taught me courtesy and decorum.  Most importantly she taught me to be proud, make waves, and always show some spine.

I miss her, and am grateful for her lessons. She taught me never to be ashamed of the little black girl that I was, and I know that she would beam with pride at the woman that I've become.  Happy birthday, Mom!